Smile Time
by Anarkitty
Summary: Joker catches Harley playing with makeup...


Title: Smile Time

Author: Anarkitty

Fandom: Batman (B:tAS-verse)

Genre: (dark) Humour

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own any DC characters. I just use them shamelessly for my own pleasure.

The vanity case was slightly scuffed in worn black leather - it barely closed, stuffed to the brim with cosmetic confection. Cracked palettes of girlish warpaint, coloured in a rainbow. Most of them were probably past their trashing date, but Harley never paid attention to those - really, what woman did? Makeup was an expensive habit, and a mascara stick had to be more resilient than the token three months. Thirty minutes in a mug of warm water and it'd be peachy again. Plus what about nostalgia? The nail polish you wore on your first date. All dried up but you could remember the garish tone and gloopy thickness splashed onto 13-year-old talons. Women kept those things. And if they didn't, they wished they could.

Harley had come to the case fresh-faced, with a tumble of bedhead hair, and rummaged through the contents.  
Some of the stuff was less old. A closed compact of whiteface, the type Goths sometimes wore in the 80s and the kiddies wore on Halloween. Or that clowns wore at the circus.

A little while and she'd smeared the thick cream onto her cheeks, nose, forehead. Charcoal round the eyes. _Too severe for a lady?_ - But Harley - Harleen - used to wear black eyeshadow to work on occasion, albeit blended down; the magazines said it was 'vampy.'  
She meant to reach for the black lipstick. Instead she paused a split second, and leaned into the tiny mirror inside the vanity case. Staring at the mask, unfinished.  
She'd missed a spot down by her jawline, revealing blush-tone flesh below. But something else had caught Harley's eye – a tube of red lip colour. Picking it up and twisting, it was the wrong shade. Too bright, people'd call it Slut Red, she guessed. _Though that's not a nice thing to say to a girl when she's just going for glamour._

Not glamorous now, but just a little silly...Harley applied the lipstick, curving the scarlet wax into an attempted, yet rather ungraceful, smile. Stretched past her natural lip line and probably wider than Mistah J's. She grinned underneath the paint; even more grotesque, and hugged her knees tight. Harley didn't look a teensy bit like her Puddin', but it made her giggle still. Pouting at the warped reflection, she was in her own little world 'til the door burst open.

One stride and Joker was in the room, clearly in high spirits, as his greeting began "Pumpkin!..." He trailed off as he noticed Harley, curled on the floor. Took a second to assess the big red streak on her face, the matching lipstick. "What's that?" he inquired, still light and lovely, with darkened eyes.

"Nothin'!" Harley squeaked. "Puddin'." She turned her head towards the wall.  
Joker took a step forward. "You're playing games without me!" A touch of disappointment. But with that elevated, mocking tone she knew so well. He was standing over her now, shadow hovering above.  
"That's lovely." A pause. Harley refrained from a direct glance at him, waiting. "It is," he continued. "Why are you hiding, Harleykins? Show me properly." Leaning down, craned his neck to look her in the eye.  
Harley shrank away. And Joker seized a handful of her hair, causing her to squeal as he jolted her to her feet.

Almost immediately he softened his hold, stroking the back of her head in a gentle, soothing motion. "Aw..." he commented, almost a whisper. "This..." Bringing a fingertip down her whitened cheek, tracing that hideous red stain. "...this is not good at all."  
Harley blinked. "But... you just..."  
"Ssh, ssh, ssh," he murmured, all sing-song, tapping her nose lightly. "You did a finger painting for Daddy," he chuckled. "Daddy's not impressed."  
"It wasn't for you, Mistah J, it was-" Harley stopped abruptly, searching for the best explanation.  
Joker's eyes grew wide. "Yeeees?"  
"For me, I was just... just foolin' around and I... didn't do anythin' wrong-" she trailed off when his eyebrows knitted together. "...I mean..."

He sighed theatrically. "I suppose I should be flattered. Imitation and all that. But Harley, really." He knocked her onto her knees again with a blow to the left shoulder, angling her face to see the mirror. "Can't you do anything right? No. Because it's all... wrong... and frankly, pretty insulting." Joker knelt down to her level, pulling her close. "I'd expect you to take a little more care."  
"I would've, but-"  
"No no, Harleygirl. I want you to tell me... why you did it." He backed away slightly, observing her.  
No answer from Harley.  
He pressed. "Why?"  
She knew she had to speak; she looked downwards. "I don't know... I kinda wanted to... it's 'cause-" Would flattery get her anywhere? "-well, you just always look so perfect, Puddin'..."  
He cut her off. "I know, I know," he nodded, understandingly. "But this doesn't look perfect though, does it?" Folding his arms, Joker seemed deep in thought. "Perhaps paint has that effect."  
"Yes," Harley agreed emphatically.  
"It just appears fake."  
"Yes," she repeated with the same enthusiasm.  
"But _my_smile, Harley, mine is real." He ran a fingernail past his own grin. "It never lies. Now you. You smile for me all the time. But how do I know it isn't fake?"

Harley frowned, unsure where this was going. "What?"  
"Don't say 'what,' dear, say 'pardon.'"  
"Pard-"  
"Not _now_," he huffed, annoyed. "This smile," he inserted middle finger and thumb into Harley's mouth, spreading her lips into a grimace and exposing her teeth. "It comes and goes when you wish. I think that sometimes you're simply _pretending_ to smile for me."  
"No, Mistah J," she implored.  
He paused, eyes to the vanity case and then back to Harley.

"Smile for me now."  
"…O…OK," Harley stuttered, giving a forced grin.  
"That's right. Now, let's see if Daddy can give you a better makeover, mm?"  
"A… wh- Pardon?" Harley corrected herself.  
"Good girl. A makeover, silly!" He squeezed her lips together, into a trout pout. "If you want _authenticity_, there's only one thing for it."  
Harley giggled nervously. "I s'pose that thing ain't… cookies or somethin' nice?" She beamed, hopeful.  
Joker frowned. "No. It isn't _cookies_." Joker groped around in the vanity case, pulling out a metal nail file. "This isn't as sharp as it could be, but we'll make do." He gripped her by the throat.  
Harley squirmed.  
"Hold still, sweetie," Joker coaxed, "…hold STILL." He had the nail file at the left corner of her lips. "If I do this wrong, I can't exactly have another go, can I? Unless you'd like a smile somewhere else, as well…"

"Don't-" Harley whispered. "…Mistah J. Please."  
"I'm going to count to three."  
"No…"  
"1-"  
Harley jerked a little.  
"2-"  
"Puddin'…" She blinked, tears in her eyes.  
"3!"  
Joker whipped the nail file out of Harley's mouth, leaning directly into her face and laughing hysterically. Harley winced, shuddering, as he planted a big kiss on her nose. Then he slapped her. "Wipe that off," he instructed, and then he was gone. Laughter echoing down the corridor.


End file.
